


With Your Heartbeat Next to Mine

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-04
Updated: 2008-06-04
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: A little birthday treat for pop-culturally-unaware Mark.





	With Your Heartbeat Next to Mine

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics I (mostly) pulled out of my head after all of these years. Oy. The story explains who really sings it.
> 
> If you are expecting a plot, you will be sadly disappointed.
> 
> Also, I ♥ [](http://just-dreamsome.livejournal.com/profile)[**just_dreamsome**](http://just-dreamsome.livejournal.com/). That is all. :D 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my song, not even a little bit.

When he enters her flat, it's in complete silence, so he's instantly able to home in on her location because of the sustained humming. She's promised him a lovely birthday evening but she's not expecting him there quite yet and he likes when the element of surprise is on his side. He finds her in the bedroom, her back to him, wearing a headset listening to music and head lowered as she fastens a belt around her waist. He looks at her from head to toe appreciatively:

She's got a lace headband tied up in a bow in her blonde hair, which she's curled and sprayed in a messy but charming style. She's wearing a black lace top that barely reaches her waist, through which he can clearly see the strap of her black satin bra. There's a wide leather belt sitting upon her hips, and a very short, stretchy black tube skirt snugly sheathing her hips and bottom. Tights made of that extremely open weave lace cover her legs, and on her feet, a pair of discordant little-girl-style lacy ankle socks.

She turns suddenly, and as his eyes fix on the front of the black satin bra beneath the lace top, she gasps, pulling off the headphones. "Mark!"

His eyes move down over her stomach, stopping momentarily on her exposed navel before travelling to the low waist of her skirt and belt buckle, and his mouth feels suddenly dry. It usually does when he's so starkly reminded how bloody sexy she is.

"You're ruining the surprise!" she adds, pouting, her giant hoop earrings still swinging.

"Surprise?"

"For your birthday."

He can't imagine what kind of surprise involves so much stretchy black lace, but he's not sorry he caught her in the middle of dressing. "I don't think anything's ruined." _Except_ , he thinks, _for my composure_. "What's the surprise?"

"Do you want it now, even though I'm not ready?"

If he were the sort of person to read double-entendre into everything, he would definitely have read it into this. "Absolutely."

She grins. "Okay."

She clears her throat, then to his bewilderment, turns away from him. After a moment she turns back with a seductive sort of half-smile on her face.

Then she starts… _singing_.

"I made it through the wilderness."

She is no world-class singer by any means, but her voice is light and clear and beautiful to him.

"Somehow I made it through."

She raises her hands up over her head, baring even more of her midsection as well as the underside of the satin cups. As she continues, she brings her hands back down to hover them down over her shoulders, then chest, then hips.

"Didn't know how lost I was until I found you."

She twirls so that her back's to him again before swiveling her head to look over her shoulder, meeting his eyes with a fierce, unwavering gaze that sends his heart racing.

"I was beat."

She turns and looks over her other shoulder with an adorable pout.

"Incomplete."

She turns around and her lips have formed a lovely, sexy smile, bringing her feet together and bending her knees as she twists at the waist. The skirt rides up momentarily.

"I'd been had; I was sad and blue."

Standing up straight again, she walks closer to him.

"But you made me feel…"

She places one hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, you made me feel… shiny and new."

She touches his face tenderly.

As she draws back her hands, she takes a step away, and starts to sing again, except he doesn't let her get much out: "Like a—"

He's grabbed her around the waist and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with a devouring passion, pulling her against him; her bare skin against his hands drives him completely wild. One kiss blends into the next with no less fire. His palms skate down over the leather belt, to the stretch skirt, his fingernails catching on the lace as he rakes them up the backs of her thighs and under the skimpy skirt.

Her hands trace around his own waist, to the front of his trousers just as he finds the top of her tights and pulls them down over her hips, along with her pants. His hands then return to her bottom, pressing into her. There's something so provocative and untamed about her that he can barely contain himself, and he pushes his fingers between her thighs.

She moans into his mouth, her fingers tightening on his own waist.

"Need to have you," he says throatily into her ear.

"All yours," she responds in kind.

She backs up closer to the bed then sits down, lifting her legs so that he can pull her tights and pants off. Hastily he takes off his own clothing and once he does he's on the bed, stretching out alongside her, literally pouncing upon her again. He briefly considers stripping her of her top and bra but decides he likes the roughness of the lace overlaying the softness of the satin against his palm as he takes her breast in his hand.

She arches up into him, her breath hot on his throat as he rolls so that she's beneath him. His hand traces along her ribs and hip, then down to her thigh again. She begs him not to stop there so he runs the pads of his fingers over the bend at her hip, sliding downward to the heat between her legs. As he does she whimpers and bucks up again.

She hardly needs to say she wants more. He does too. As he takes her mouth again he does not hesitate driving into her; as he does she cries out, breaking the kiss. They move together, accompanied by soft sighs and heated growls as she pushes up into his downward thrusts, faster and faster until he can no longer think or remember who he is; he only knows the pleasure he's feeling, the pleasure he's giving to her. Her quickening cries, the tenseness of her muscles tell him she's near climax, and in urging her closer and closer to that peak he finds his own. He does not stop, though, until he's sure of her complete satisfaction, and only then does he feel like he can exhale, taking her into his arms, languidly kissing her jaw, her crazily coiffed hair having long lost its shape but still tickling his forehead.

When she sighs it feels like it's coming from deep within his own body. The sigh takes shape and becomes his own name as she reaches up to plant delicate kisses against the thundering pulse in his throat.

"Happy birthday," she breathes.

He rolls onto his side, taking her with him. He's still panting but he smiles as he meets her eyes again, reaching his hand up but he's thwarted from running his fingers through her hair by the bow and the massive amounts of spray fixing it in place. He chuckles, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek instead.

"I'm sorry I never got to hear the rest of it," he murmurs.

"What?"

"Your song."

Bridget merely blinks, wrinkling her brow.

"I'm touched that you wrote it for me," he adds. "What's the rest? 'Like a' what, exactly?"

She studies Mark with a look that says she clearly thinks he's insane. "Mark. That was _Madonna_. _I_ was Madonna." She looks stunned for a few moments more, then slowly grins. "Do you think I dress like this all the time or something?"

"Well, I thought…" he begins unsurely. He'd been so overcome with desire he supposes he hadn't been thinking at all. "You said you hadn't finished dressing yet. I thought part of your surprise might have been…"

"What?"

"Well, wearing that sexy stuff under regular clothes."

She giggles. "No, I meant I hadn't put on the piles of crucifix necklaces, rubber bracelets or gloves yet. Or really practised the dancing yet."

"Gloves?"

She looks around, then reaches and grabs something on the pillow over his head, holding up a delicate lace glove for him to see, but it's been ruined. "Why did you cut the fingers off?" he asks.

"They're _supposed_ to be fingerless," she says with a laugh. "You are too much, sometimes."

He lifts his head and kisses her. "The dancing was flawless."

"You're teasing me."

"I'm not," he says. "Every movement was perfect in that it most definitely had the desired effect."

She smirks in that adorable lopsided way that tells him she's embarrassed but pleased. "I'm glad."

"Now." He runs his fingers along her forehead, and down to her chin. "Care to finish the number?"

She lowers her lids and smiles like the Cheshire cat, propping herself up on one elbow and running her hand over the planes of his stomach to his hip. She begins to sing again in a low, throaty voice: "Like a virgin, touched for the very first time…"

_The end._


End file.
